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Alan 2L g>iran3 



Born August 18th, 1908 
Died January 29th, 19 19 





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Our Boys 

and 

Other Poems 

by 
ALAN L. STRANG 

California's 

BOY POET 



Copyrighted, 19 19 
BY J. L STRANG 









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FEE 24 



Introduction 



Alan L. Strang was born in Spokane, 
Washington, August 18, 1908. L< »ving there 
until he was four years old, he came to Cal- 
ifornia in 1913 with his parents, making 
their home in Redwood City. 

He had a gentle, loving disposition, was 
always frail and delicate and possessed a 
mental development far in advance of his 
years. He was taken to the Great Beyond 
January 29, 1919. 

The poems contained in this book were 
written prior to hi3 tenth birthday. Consid- 
ering the age of the author we feel that the 
work contains real merit, while the senti- 
ment expressed betokens that patriotic 
spirit which never fails or hesitates when 
our country calls for men. J. L. S. 



So tlti* Seaiter of tJjta Itonk 



This little book's a letter, 

I send direct to you; 
I hope that you will like it, 

And read it thru and thru. 
And after you have read it, 

Just send a thot to me; 
Your thots will help to make me 

The "Poet" I would be. 

Yours very truly, 

ALAN L. STRANG, 
Redwood City, California. 




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Written after the United 

States entered the war, 

fighting on the side of the 
Entente Allies. 



•12- 



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Halt! Attention! Salute the flag, 

The boys are marching by; 
They're going forth to win the war 

For us to do or die. 
Our country needed fighting men, 

Her liberty to save; 
These boys responded to the call, 

And all they had they gave. 

All loyal hearts are beating fast, 

And hope cur bosoms fill; 
For liberty shall reign supreme 

O'er ocean, dale and hill. 
With no regrets for parted hopes 

Or futures cast aside, 
Our soldier boys are marching by; 

They are our country's pride. 



li— 



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Written as a tribute to my 
brother, W. M. Strang, with 
the Engineer*. 



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He said, "I'm Daddy's soldier boy," 
When he was five years old; 

And then went out and built snow 
forts, 
Although the day was cold. 

The snowballs were his hand 
grenades, 

A stick his bayonette; 
And with a home-made wooden gun 

The foe he bravely met. 

In five more years he joined the 
'scouts" 

And hiked across the hills; 
He learned to wear a khaki suit, 

And do military drills. 

And so the years passed swiftly on, 

And now he is a man; 
He's in the trenches over there, 

Fighting for Uncle Sam. 

I know he'll make the Huns regret 
They started this big fight, 

For he knows the cause he's fight- 
ing for 
Is liberty and right. 



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Written for the first thrift 
stamp drive. 



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I want to be a soldier 
And march away to Prance; 

I want to find a wicked "Hun," 
And shoot him in the pants. 

I want to be a soldier, 

And wear a khaki suit; 
I want to have a sword and gun 

And all the "Boches" shoot. 

I want to be a soldier, 

and have an aeroplane 
To drop bombs on the German 
towns, 

And fly back home again. 

I want to be a soldier 

And do my little bit; 
My country needs brave fighting 
men, 

While here at home I sit. 

Some day I'll be a big, big man; 

I'll go to war and fight 
The wicked Hun, or any one 

Who does not do what's right. 

But now the only way for me 
To help my country win, 

Is save my coin and buy thrift 
stamps, 
So, boys, let's save our tin. 



-17- 



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The rough old Mr. Storm 
Is whirling, swirling past 
He makes the treetops bow their 
heads 
And trembles at his blast. 

He never stops to think 
of the damage he may do, 

He's always rushing in and out 
And hitting, batting you. 

He pushes big, black clouds 

Against the mountain tops; 
The rain and hall comes rushing 

down 
In large, round crystal drops. 

The storm will soon be over; 

See the rainbow in the sky. 
The birds will sing on airy wing, 

And the bright sun shine on high. 





1 
§o Not Worry I 



-20— 



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1 So Hoi Morrg 

Do not worry over trifles, though 
to you they may seem great, 

All your fretting will not help you, 
or your troubles dissipate. 

If your sky is dark and gloomy, 
and the sun is hid from view, 
Bravely smile and keep on smiling, 
And your friends will smile with 
you. 

Happiness is so contagious, and a 

smile is never lost; 
Then why worry over trifles, tho 
your heart seems tempest tossed. 

Therefore go on life's journey 
with an optimistic smile, 

See the world is good to live in, 
and that living is worth while. 



—n— 



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Written when the clock was 
set ahead one hour on April 
1, 1918. 



—22— 



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Our Rooster wakes at half-past 

Ave 
And crows with all his might, 
He tries to wake the people up 
Before the day is light. 
When Daddy hears the rooster 

crow 
He knows he should awake 
And light the kitchen fire, so Ma 
Can cook the Johnny cake. 

Now, maybe we can fool my Dad 
That it's half-past five when it's 

half-past four, 
And maybe the system's the best we 

have had 
To fool some thousands of people 

or more; 
But, how can we fool that rooster? 






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(Continued) 



-24- 



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I have always thought our rooster 

had 
A clock inside of his head, 
And I don't know how we can fix it 

so 
We can set the clock ahead. 
I asked my Dad, and he said to me, 
"Why, son, you surely know 
A rooster's instinct wakens him 
And tells him when to crow." 

Now the hands of the clock we can 

turn ahead, 
We can fool the people and feel 

content; 
But the thing that worries me night 

and day, 
And on which my entire thought 

is bent 
Is, how can we fool that rooster? 



-26— 



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A Wtmfy of J 
SUouiprs 

Written for Decoration Day, 
May 30, 1918. 



~-26— 



A Ww aih of 
JUnuipra 



I wove me a wreath of flowers 

To place in memories hall, 
In honor of the brave and fearless 
men 
Who had answered our country's 
call. 
The men who had answered, and 
fought, and died 
For the cause of freedom, our 
country's pride! 

I wove me a wrath of flowers 
With many a sigh and tear, 

As a tribute to all the good and 
true 
Who were given few honors here. 

The man of humble piety 

Who lived and died in obscurity. 

A wreath of flowers, a little thing 

For flowers wither and fade; 
But the fragrance they shed is not 
soon forgot 
By me, who the wreath has 
made. 
So the virtues of those who have 
gone before, 
Will always be treasured in mem- 
ory's store. 

—27— 



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-28— 



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Mourns 



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EPITAPH 

Our loved ones lay them down to 

sleep 

And leave us here to grieve and 

mourn, 
While we, our silent watches keep, 

O'er their low graves whence 

they are bourne. 
Some heroes are in battle slain, 
Their names are honored far 

and near, 
While others die on beds of pain 
And no sad mourner sheds a tear. 

This day we honor each and all 
Whose soul has left its temporal 
case; 

And be he great, or be he small, 
We'll reverence his resting place. 



-2»— 



Part Second 



The poems and story of Masata in part 
second of this book were written during the 
last month of the young Author's life. 

He was taken to the Spirit Land' Janu- 
ary 29, 1919. 



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I've a lily of the Valley 
That I'm keeping here for you; 
I care for and protect it, 
And water it with dew. 
It is a living emblem 
Of the wonderful domain, 
Where all is pure and love-like, 
And where we feel no pain. 

Yes, the Lily of the Valley 
Is a tie twlxt you and me; 
For every time you see one 
Think how happy I must be. 
I'm an atom of the infinite, 
How wonderful it seems; 
Yet from your sphere the finite 
But a thin veil intervenes. 



-32- 



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I have roses in my garden, 
And their fragrance fills the air. 
How I love to watch them blooming: 
For they all are very fair. 

Some have deep red velvet petals, 
Some again are snowy white; 
And the little baby pink ones, 
Surely give you such delight. 

Pretty birds come to my garden, 
And sing there the live-long day; 
Yes the birds and pretty flowers 
Help and cheer us on our way. 



—35— 



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SPRING 

Spring time is here with its sunshine 

and showers, 
All nature is waking from its long 

winter sleep. 
The gardens are blooming with beautiful 

flowers, 
The song-birds are carolling melodies 

sweet. 

SUMMER 

The summer comes with glaring heat, 
And we will have vacation; 
We pack our grips for the seashore trips, 
Or other recreation. 

AUTUMN 

The harvest moon is shining bright, 
The leaves are falling everywhere; 
How glorious is the autumn night, 
How cool and bracing is the air. 

WINTER— 

Jack frost is stalking through the land 
The ground is covered white, with snow. 
We like to sit beside the fire 
And tell the tales of long ago. 

—87— 



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A BIRTHDAY WISH. 

I'm wishing a happy birthday, 
To you ray dear sweet friend; 
And may every day be a happy day 
Is the wish I will always send. 



A CHRISTMAS WISH. 

A Merry Christmas Wish to you, 
And may your heart be gay; 
May Santa bring you many things, 
This Merry Christmas day. 



A NEW YEAR WISH 

A happy happy, New Year, 

We all are wishing you; 

We hope no sorrow you shall know 

This whole year through. 



—Si- 



Srpama 

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40- 



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Away o'er the hills in the valley green 
Away from the noise of the busy town; 
I dream sweet dreams of the olden days 
Of you in your beautiful wedding gown. 

I dream that you come and sit by me 
And you hold my hand and ruff my hair; 
Your eyes shine with a sweet delight 
That I used to see so often there. 

Then my heart is filled with a hallowed love 
And I know t'is but a little way 
To the spirit land, and I know that I 
Shall meet you there some glad sweet day. 

Then our wedding day in the spirit land 
Will be filled with love and joy serene; 
And the infinite hand will guide us where 
The waters are still and the valleys green. 



— 41- 



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Masata was an Indian boy, he lived on the 
banks of the Ohio River in Kentucky. Dur- 
ing the Revolutionary War in 1771, the 
Americans were taking over the land very 
fast, and when Masata was ten years old 
his parents moved to the wild regions of the 
Dakotas, taking Masata with them. 

Here he enjoyed life although it was 
much colder than in his native Kentucky, 
and in the Winter months he wore coats of 
fur made from bear skin. 

The days soon became filled with inter- 
esting things for Masata. One day when he 
was roaming through the wilds, he heard a 
wild Buffalo approaching. He seemed al- 
most helpless, as he had nothing but a 
small bow and a few arrows, and the buffalo 
was only a short distance from him. He be- 
gan to run in what he thought was the di- 
rection of his home, but instead he was go- 
ing in the opposite way. In a few minutes 



—43 — 



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he saw the smoke of a camp Are and ran 
toward it. By this time the beast was very 
close to him and he was almost in despair, 
when the buffalo lurched forward, then roll- 
ed over dead. Three Indians hunting near 
by had hit him in a vital spot with an 
arrow. 

The Indians belonged to a tribe which 
was his father's most bitter enemy, and they 
took him before their chief. The chief ord- 
ered that he be let live for two moons, and 
he was given a bed of dry twigs to sleep on 
as the night was drawing near. 

Time passed quietly for Masata until the 
approach of the morning of the second moon. 
He had been planning how he would es- 
cape from his father's enemies. Finally one 
morning he slipped into a bear skin and 
hopped bravely off toward the woods. The 
Indians thinking he was a bear, shot arrows 
at him and wounded him in the right arm, 

—45— 



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-46 



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but Masata kept bravely on and was soon 
out of range of the arrows. Then he band- 
aged his wounded arm the best he could and 
set out for his father's wigwam. 

He arrived safely the same evening, and 
his parents were overjoyed to see him and 
know he was safe once more, and the tribe 
made a great feast, or as they call it, Pow 
Wow, as a welcome to his home coming. 

While Masata was still a young "brave" 
their chief died and after a great ceremony, 
Masata was made Chief of the tribes, and 
was known as great and good ruler. 



—47— 



